The
spring of 1976 was warm
and sunny across Eastern
Europe. Through the windows
of Major Wladyslaw Bielach's
office, Paszkowski could
see the lilac branches that
sweetened the room as an
occasional breeze wafted
inside. His eyes wandered
around the richly-appointed
room of an officer in the
Polish Intelligence Service
(SB) while the other explained
the need for Poles to remain
alert against threats from
the West. The younger man
listened politely, trying
to conceal boredom. He knew
both Bielach - a long-time
family friend - and his
ideological tirades too
well. He also knew where
this one was leading. Bielach
wanted him to join the SB
and become a secret agent.

Ryszard
was not unsympathetic to
the proposal, which had
also been suggested by his
father, but he was still
reluctant to join. He had
just graduated with good
marks from the Polish Intelligence
School in Krakow and it
would be only weeks before
his mandatory military service
expired. This session in
the army headquarters with
Bielach and an army Commander-in-Chief
was clearly a combined effort
by two seasoned soldiers
to enlist him.

Paszkowski
listened more carefully
to Bielach's account of
the privileges available
for extra courses for work
in the SB. In Poland of
1976, few could get by on
the meagre earnings in government-owned
enterprises. Shortages of
food and other necessities
were becoming acute. Bielach's
inducements included access
to special consumer stores
where products, usually
unavailable, could be bought
cheaper and without long,
time-consuming line-ups.
A high salary, the promise
of a car, trips to other
Communist country resorts
- such perks were appealing
to many twenty-one-year-old
Poles. He was already excited
about the thrills secret
service work offered and
flattered by the attention
from two senior officers
to get him to accept their
offer to join the service.

He
soon signed the prepared
documents, which warned
him to keep all official
secrets. Bielach then shook
his hand and congratulated
him on his decision. "You
have to be prepared for
the work, Ryszard", he said.
"Our friends in the Soviet
Union will train you in
their best school. You'll
never regret this decision."

Shortly
afterwards, Paszkowski was
promoted to command a platoon.
Just before his military
service expired, he was
released and sent, all expenses
paid, for a month-long vacation
at a luxury hotel at Varna
in Bulgaria. Officially,
he won the trip as a "reward
for very good marks received
during military training."
While friends sweated as
they performed a host of
military exercises, Paszkowski
enjoyed the sun and surf
at the expense of Poland's
then still hard-line Communist
regime. The first perks
of the privileged world
were good. After his vacation,
he returned to his parent's
home to await further instructions.

Ryszard
was soon told to report
to the Intelligence department
of the local militia. More
was said there about the
spy school in the USSR and
more documents were signed.
He was now officially a
security agent in the Polish
Intelligence Service. When
his working identification,
revolver, and a train ticket
to Moscow arrived a week
later, he left for the Soviet
capital and once there reported
to a specified hotel.

Paszkowski
was met the next morning
and driven to one of the
Moscow KGB units, a gathering
centre for future students
of the special intelligence
school. An officer completed
the formalities for admission.
Paszkowski was photographed,
finger-printed, measured
and weighed. A doctor examined
him and noted everything
in his personnel file. A
new Polish name was issued
under which he was to be
known during his nine months
of training.

"You
understand, Comrade Paszkowski,
that from now on you must
obey our orders to the letter
and keep secret anything
you see and do. We have
many ways of making sure
one gets to understand the
rules properly in case of
problems," the officer added,
smiling cooly and nodding
meaningfully at two husky
guards standing by with
stone-like faces. Paszkowski
nodded that he understood
everything, shuddering inwardly
at the thought of the notorious
Soviet prison, Lublianka,
where untold thousands of
"enemies of the State" had
been imprisoned, tortured
and killed over almost six
decades. He banished the
thought by resolving that
he wasn't going to be frightened
by any Soviet apparatchik.

He
then entered a huge hall
where about fifty other
young men were already present.
Some were reading and drinking
coffee or tea. Others sat
silently. Nobody talked
to one another, presumably
because they were all frightened
into silence by KGB officers.
Every few minutes, a new
candidate entered.

In
the late afternoon, they
were finally fed. During
dinner, some began talking
to each other. "Where are
you from?" Paszkowski asked
his neighbour, a dark haired,
muscular and sad-looking
man at the next table in
Russian. "I'm from Hungary,"
the other responded. "There
are three of us here." Many
nationalities were present;
recruits from the same homeland
soon sought out their own
kind. There were four Poles.
Other countries represented
included East Germany, Cuba,
Bulgaria - the largest group,
Czechoslovakia - both Czechs
and Slovaks, Angola, Nicaragua,
Chile, Palestine, Vietnam,
North Korea and Libya.

Each
man wondered where they
would go next; no-one thought
they would be trained in
Moscow. They remained in
the hall until late that
night, chattering about
possible destinations.

At
10:00 p.m., several KGB
types abruptly entered the
hall and told everyone to
move in the direction of
a large square within the
compound. Two medium-size
transport helicopters awaited.
They boarded and took off
for an unknown destination.
Another Polish recruit joked
that they were being sent
for hard labour in Siberia.
Despite the oppressive atmosphere
of secrecy, several were
in high spirits in part
because of the quantity
of Polish vodka consumed.
A Pole had hidden a bottle
in his jacket and shared
it secretly with the others
in the shaking helicopter.
Finally, after two or three
hours in the air, they landed.
It was pitch dark outside.
They were taken to a well-equipped
barracks and, being dead-tired,
soon fell asleep in their
assigned beds.

The
next morning, each recruit
had his first good look
at the facility deep in
the Ural Mountains not too
far from Kirov where they
would spend the next nine
months. Oddly, the wake
up call came from a Russian
lieutenant with a squeaky
voice who tried to enhance
his authority by shouting.
He was also short and his
problem was clearly a `Napoleonic
complex'. Most of the recruits
were tall, well-built and
physically-fit men. Their
Russian master shouted continuously
at the top of his lungs,
swearing at them for not
getting out of bed fast
enough.

The
lieutenant was good, however,
at jogging; when he finally
got his recruits out of
the barracks and ordered
them to follow, they could
hardly keep up to him as
he sprinted ahead. This
became their daily "morning
discipline". As they followed
the tiny lieutenant along
forest paths, many swore
silently at his inferiority
complex and the entire Soviet
Union itself. There was
no option. They had to obey
all commands precisely.

The
camp and barracks were well-hidden
in the forest and very comfortable
by Russian standards. There
was a training facility,
sports playgrounds - both
indoor and outdoor, a movie
theatre, swimming pool,
and even a coffee shop in
which they spent their free
time. The camp was fenced
by steel wire mesh and tightly
guarded by KGB soldiers.
Recruits had no contact
with them because guards
were forbidden to mingle
with recruits. When Paszkowski
and colleagues tried to
talk to the guards, they
were both shy and respectful.
Like the lieutenant, they
suffered from a distinct
inferiority complex, presumably
because they could only
dream about becoming full
agents.

After
the first morning's exercise,
the recruits went to a warehouse
where they were each assigned
two battle dress uniforms,
underwear, shaving kits
and personal hygiene items.
At the parade ground, they
formed themselves into platoons.
Colonel Aleksander Potapow,
the commander of the camp,
delivered an egregiously
boring welcoming speech.
He spoke as someone completely
out of touch with the modern
world. He was an apparatchik,
pure and simple, whose speech
had been written for him
and he was only repeating
it once again. Having greeted
them, however, Potapow's
tone changed abruptly. He
warned gravely about any
insubordination in the group,
mentioning penalties, which
ranged from house arrest
in the camp to a spell in
a Siberian gulag. They varied
from the point of view of
both severity and duration.
House arrest would last
from 7- to 21-days. No limit
was put on the gulag, and
presumably could be a life
sentence. There was also
the matter of location.
House arrest at the camp
at Lesnoj in the Urals was
very different from the
legendarily cold Siberia.

Potapow
also outlined the most severe
punishment: capital punishment
by shooting for treason,
adding that the death penalty
would be carried out no
matter where on earth the
person condemned to die
might find himself. He stressed
that finding anyone would
pose little difficulty for
the KGB world service. The
recruits felt at that moment
that they had become enmeshed
in something from which
there was no return.

The
next speaker was a captain.
In marked contrast to Potapow,
who was an older, fat man
with a red nose, and probably
recalled fondly the days
of World War II, the Captain
was a good-looking, tall,
physically fit man of about
forty. He told them they
would be divided into groups
of six, and then proceeded,
without calling names, to
point at some of them to
step out. Paszkowski was
directed to one of the groups.
A young KGB lieutenant,
already waiting, ordered
his team to follow him in
a row. Paszkowski's companions
marched behind him, carrying
their bags. They were taken
to a barracks, which looked
poor from the outside but
inside was comfortably furnished.
They were assigned beds
numbered from one to six.
It was one big bedroom for
the "Magnificent Six" as
they soon came to call themselves
only half jokingly. The
groups were clearly chosen
in a way that ensured that
there were no two individuals
from the same country in
any group.

With
Paszkowski were a Hungarian,
Czech, East German, Lithuanian,
and Libyan. He soon made
friends with the Lithuanian,
partly because he spoke
a little Polish. His ancestors
were from Poland. His name
and family name were difficult
to pronounce, so when he
introduced himself and mentioned
he was of Polish background,
Paszkowski called him "Jasiek"
(Johnny in Polish) to make
things easier. He laughed
at that and accepted his
new name without protest.
They became good friends.
Jasiek was a well-built,
blonde man two or three
years older than Paszkowski.
He came from Vilnus. He
asked Paszkowski to speak
Polish to him because he
wanted to learn it. When
they had free time, Paszkowski
taught him to write in Polish;
when they parted after nine
months, Jasiek spoke Polish
well, albeit with an accent.

The
commander of the group was
Lieutenant Jewgeniy Komarow,
about 40-years-old, and
very intelligent. His role
was that of protector, who
monitored everything, including
mail. Specialists took care
of all theory and practice.
Each was an expert in his
own field. If there were
complaints about their performance
from the experts, or even
from a cleaning lady about
their behaviour, they went
to Komarow. He dispensed
all minor discipline.

Meals
were served in the barracks
in which they lived. It
contained a dormitory, two
classrooms, bathrooms, cafeteria,
bar/coffee shop, reading
room, arms storage room,
and was connected by a special
passage with a sports hall
and an indoor swimming pool.

Classes
began the morning after
arrival. After the morning
wake up call by Komarow,
they jogged in the woods
for about 15 minutes, then
showered, shaved, and put
on their uniforms. The breakfasts
were excellent. They were
then off to school.

The
instructor in Marxism-Leninism
was Professor Kulakow. He
bored everyone to death,
even causing some to doze
off completely during his
classes. He talked about
the need for ideological
warfare with the West and
about its possibilities.
He droned on about the achievements
of the socialist countries
in the field of espionage
and their superiority over
Western intelligence. Paszkowski,
who had heard such things
before in Poland, was doubly
bored. When he closed his
eyes and dozed off during
lectures, Jasiek, equally
bored but not yet asleep,
rolled paper balls and threw
them at his head.

The
Lithuanian experienced great
joy each time Paszkowski
jumped up, unsure what was
happening. The other students
laughed quietly except for
the East German, whom they
all disliked because he
behaved like a robot. He
took everything very seriously,
studied diligently, and
would report to Komarow
everything he saw and heard,
convinced that by doing
so he served socialism.
He had good manners and
was always polite, but was
not very physically fit.
Jasiek and Paszkowski kept
a close eye on him and picked
on him often for being the
group's "pig". Jasiek once
completely lost his temper
with him. When he later
informed on them again,
Jasiek wanted to give him
a good beating. Paszkowski
stopped him from doing it,
but it eventually did happen.

On
one occasion, Komarow summoned
the pair and gave them a
warning about pinching a
Russian cook and a cleaning
woman. Neither woman had
seemed to mind. It was clear
that the East German had
spilled the beans on them.
In a washroom, as the German
was leaving a toilet, Jasiek
pushed him back into the
stall and beat him up. Jasiek
received seven days house
arrest, but at least the
other carried a black eye
and swollen lip for some
time.

The
Libyan, no softy himself,
declared that if he ever
met the German in his own
country he would kill him
like a fly. Everyone laughed
at this, and the Libyan
soon joined Paszkowski's
inner circle of friends.
At first, he kept to himself
and the group didn't know
how he would react to their
jokes, but soon all cultural
barriers were overcome.
They managed, courtesy of
the cook, to smuggle in
cigarettes and matches hidden
in food. They knew they
weren't allowed to smoke
there, but Jasiek was a
chain smoker. Jasiek got
his cigarettes and they
were all content except
the East German.

Spy
training was complex. They
were taught first not to
trust anyone completely
without exception. They
were given hundreds of examples
of how corruptible human
beings could be. You could
bribe anyone if the price
was right. They were taught
how to set the amount of
a bribe for a prospect on
the West's side and whom
they would attempt to turn
to work for the East. One
had to consider many factors:
the standard of living of
a potential agent, his interests,
sexual preferences, love
of money and indebtedness.

The
recruits were taught, for
example, that it is easiest
to recruit someone in deep
financial debt who has strong
sexual desires, a common
enough type in the West.
It is also easy to snare
someone with a family, who
is respected in their community,
but who while on business
trips has affairs. Even
more so, when someone is
bisexual and has affairs
with persons of the same
sex. In such cases, choose
the right moment and a woman
or man working for the East
enters into a relationship
with the potential recruit.
Taking photographs, or videotaping
a compromising situation
complete with a sound track
is relatively simple. Thereafter,
most can blackmail victims
easily. Generally, it works
because the person is terrified
of scandal, or losing family,
job, and career hopes.

Such
methods were used by the
East German intelligence
service with spectacular
results. Its prey were individuals
of widely differing social
and professional backgrounds.
Employees of Western banks,
scientists, university professors,
journalists, clergy, engineers,
army personnel, employees
in factories of strategic
importance, technicians,
medical doctors, employees
of Foreign Affairs departments
starting with a cleaning
woman and ending with the
Minister himself, policemen,
employees of passport offices,
inspectors at border check-points
- these and many other persons
needed at particular times
were caught in such webs.
So, too, were a surprising
number of international
athletes.

When
some employee of a ministry
was to be caught, and an
older and unattractive woman
was the candidate, a handsome,
young agent would enter
the scene. A staged love
affair would take place
and then the blackmail.
As demonstrated by the case
of the secretary of former
West German Chancellor Helmut
Schmidt, this method was
used successfully to the
very highest levels of the
Federal German Republic.

For
people with debts, it was
easy to recruit them. An
offer to pay off the debt
was usually irresistible,
but if the debt was paid
off entirely the victim
might change their minds
later on. To keep someone
dependent, the class was
taught, you pay only one-third
of the debt.

They
were taught psychology and
how to speak to all kinds
of people. This included
good conversation and table
manners. Using a knife,
fork and spoon correctly,
Paszkowski and his classmates
were told, was important
in the West. Some of them,
such as the Libyan, didn't
even know how to use a knife
and fork before the finishing
school. Everyone's table
manners became so good that
each felt ready to dine
in a four-star Paris restaurant.

How
to gamble, how to behave
in casinos, and how to dress
in all situations were also
on the curriculum. Western
passports were explained
and how to use them. Different
countries and their immigration
practices were explained:
where to cross international
borders depending on the
documents one had; how to
forge passports, driving
licences and credit cards
(in the 1970s, credit cards
were almost unheard of in
Eastern Europe, and are
still quite rare). The recruits
were taught how to open
bank accounts using false
names, and how to use bank
machines (they had a machine
to practise on), how to
forge airline tickets, and
how to steal and to cheat
in a wide range of situations.

The
difficulties a spy might
encounter in different countries
were studied very closely.
They practised on lie-detectors
and learned how to fool
them. Their experts said
that to cheat a lie-detector,
the most important thing
is, while being connected
to the lie-detector and
being questioned, not to
worry about it. Add some
technical skills and a good
spy can answer positively
to the question, "Are you
George Bush?" and the polygraph
will register no negative
reaction. In such situations,
an operator who administers
the test and believes in
his lie-detector will either
believe the answer or will
send the speaker to a mental
hospital. A perfect lie-detector
has yet to be invented.
It is thus surprising that
any Western intelligence
service still believes in
them, presumably knowing
full well that it is easy
to fool them. Naive people,
however, are still intimidated
by the term "lie-detector",
and are thus so stressed
when they take the test
that they fail it.

An
incident occurring while
the class was practising
how to beat lie-detectors
was particularly interesting.
The Libyan was connected
to the electrodes; the polygraph
was turned on and the others
were told to watch. He was
asked a few simple questions
and the machine reacted
normally. Then, unexpectedly,
the instructor asked him,
"Are you a Jew?", the needle
jumped in the opposite direction
even though he had truthfully
answered, "No." It was clear
to all that his blood pressure
soared when a query upset
him. For an Arab, the class
was taught, there was then
no greater agitation than
to be called a Jew. Nervousness,
not truth or lies, is what
lie-detectors indicate.
After the skilled instructor
worked long enough with
him, the Libyan was able
to say that he was not only
a Jew but also a rabbi,
and the machine did not
detect his lies.

They
were taught how to code
and decode espionage materials;
to organize sabotage; to
use microfilm; to smuggle
items across borders; to
carry out surveillance and
avoid being observed; to
gather information; set
up and use contact points;
and to carry out interrogations.
Above all, they were taught
total obedience and discipline.
If headquarters said that
black is white, they were
to accept it as fact whether
they believed it or not.
They were taught basic German
on the principle it is useful
to know "the language of
the enemy". This phase of
their training was gentle
compared to what was coming.

They
then began months of a long
and exhausting struggle
with an invisible enemy.
This included indifference
to everything and numerous
methods of killing human
beings. What each had been
through during military
service in their respective
countries was scout training
in comparison with what
they were now experiencing.
It included parachute jumps
from planes and helicopters
into the thick forests of
the Urals during the dead
of winter or into icy rivers
at night and simulated attacks
on villages and killing
its residents (called "purification")
by different methods. These
were only some of the "small
things" learned.

Paszkowski
had always loved dogs. Once
while sitting in the woods
around a fire, trying to
warm up, after much walking
and being half-frozen from
cold feet, his instructor
asked him if he liked dogs.
When he nodded, the officer
tossed a knife hilt-first
towards him and told him
to kill one of the military
dogs present with their
group. For a moment, Paszkowski
thought the other was joking
and smiled at him surprised.
The other got up and snapped
out an order to kill the
dog. "He has me", Paszkowski
said to himself. "He knows
that I like dogs and that
was why he ordered me to
do it." The purpose was
obvious, to eliminate any
feelings for animals or
otherwise. Thinking very
quickly, Paszkowski went
on to himself: "If I refuse
to kill the dog, he will
have me court marshalled
for disobeying the order."
Realizing he had no way
out, Paszkowski reached
for the Kalashnikow rifle
he carried. He thought shooting
the animal would be more
humane than killing it savagely
with a knife.

The
officer immediately intervened,
ordering him to use the
knife. The thought crossed
Paszkowski's mind that he
would prefer to kill his
ghoulish instructor with
the knife instead of the
dog but that would only
be suicide. What could he
do? Finally, as everyone
watched, he grabbed the
animal - it was a large
German Shepherd - sat over
him and, with one hand holding
his head, slit his throat.
The dog yelped and broke
loose, blood spraying the
snow. His instructor, however,
still unsatisfied, told
Paszkowski to cut its head
off. Paszkowski kept on
cutting until the head fell
off and he threw it into
the bushes. The instructor
then told him to throw the
corpse of the dog there
too. Paszkowski, soaked
with the dog's blood, knelt
and attempted to wash himself
with snow. He felt bile
rising in his throat and
swallowed convulsively.

The
instructor then coolly continued
his bloody spectacle, telling
the East German to kill
the other dog the same way.
He did it without any hesitation.
Paszkowski was almost carried
away by rage and was sorely
tempted to shoot both of
them, but Jasiek, who was
nearby and sensed his state
of mind, stopped him. Paszkowski
could neither eat nor sleep
for the next two days.

The
crew was trained to fly
helicopters, ride and shoot
from tanks, and operate
various military vehicles
and weapons of both Eastern
and Western make. They were
taught guerilla war tactics,
hand-to-hand combat, and
how to survive in the toughest
conditions.

Normally,
when they were awakened
during the night and ordered
to board a helicopter with
their full military gear
their instructor was with
them. This time was different.
After two hours in the air,
the instructor told them
to jump from the helicopter.
Below them were only a moonless
night and the forests of
the Urals. They obediently
jumped out, one after another.
Paszkowski and Jasiek stayed
together and both landed
in trees. The others were
already on the ground and
giving signals with torches.
The two friends managed
to release themselves from
the parachutes, but it took
another full hour to get
them down from the trees.
Security required that they
always hide their parachutes,
so only when they were completely
covered in snow could the
pair join the rest of the
group.

They
soon realized that their
instructor wasn't present
this time. He had stayed
in the helicopter. Nobody
saw him jump out. Jasiek
concluded that if he jumped
out last and was hanging
somewhere on a tree, "He
can go to Hell!" and hang
there till spring. The East
German, now frightened that
he was for once alone with
the group without his protector,
hoped the instructor might
be somewhere nearby. He
kept giving signals with
his torch and calling out.
Jasiek told him to stop
making noise on the premise
that security practise required
him to be quiet. The other
was afraid of Jasiek, so
he stopped.

The
worst part was that they
now found themselves in
the middle of the forest
during a severe winter with
neither instructions nor
orders. What came next?
Apart from their military
equipment, they had matches,
a few food cans, and a few
bars of chocolate. They
decided to head west because
it would be warmer and they'd
be more likely to find a
settlement. None had any
idea what they were expected
to do. When the Hungarian
joked that they should go
to his mom for goulash,
the tension diminished and
they started to laugh. After
a few hours tramping westward,
they started a fire and
had their first meal. It
was exceedingly cold. They
all realized now that their
camp commanders had set
up a tactical game, but
what it was they didn't
know.

They
continued through the woods
for the next three full
days, stopping only for
rest, meals and a few hours
of sleep by a fire. They
ran out of food on day four.
Sometimes, they spotted
a fox or hare but no big
game was observed. During
the ensuing few days they
had nothing to eat but snow.
They were becoming weaker
and weaker.

The
Libyan, becoming very agitated
from hunger and the cold,
said that if they didn't
kill an animal that day
he would shoot the German
and make "shashilks" out
of him. During the next
two hours, he and the Hungarian
argued over who would prepare
shashilks made from the
German: the Hungarian à
la the Hungarian spicy way
or the Libyan à la the Arab
way. Moods improved generally
despite the exhaustion;
most were laughing. Only
the German didn't laugh.
He wasn't the least bit
certain whether the Libyan
and the Hungarian were joking.

Suddenly,
the Czech spotted a fox
and fired at it. The group
ate barbecued fox instead
of the German. The meat
smelled but everyone had
a piece. Paszkowski could
not bring himself to swallow
his piece. Years later,
his wife, Elzbieta, would
make a delicious meal from
roast rabbit, a Polish delicacy.
He was sorry to refuse,
but just could not bring
himself to taste it. It
reminded him of that fox
in the Urals. He never told
her this, but she did not
cook rabbit again even though
she loves it herself.

Feeling
stronger after a meal of
stinking fox, they moved
on. When the Czech began
to grow weaker, they took
turns supporting him. Finally,
they located a railway track
and followed it in a southwest
direction.

It
was all clear now. Their
bosses wanted to see if
the group was able to survive
a situation like this and
how. If one of them didn't
survive, Paszkowski doubted
if any of the camp commanders
at Lesnoj would shed a single
tear over his fate. They
simply wanted to select
the strongest in purest
Darwinian terms.

Exhausted,
freezing and starving, the
group finally reached a
railway signal station.
No-one knew anything about
railway signals (they weren't
part of the curriculum).
They broke the signal to
see what the train engineer
would do when he saw it
and waited through a long
night for a train to come.
Finally, one arrived late
the next day. They hid in
the forest, camouflaging
their footprints in the
snow. It was a freight train
and it stopped. One by one,
they jumped into an empty
boxcar. An hour later, the
train pulled out with all
six aboard. It was extremely
cold inside the boxcar,
though the exhausted and
starving men hardly noticed.

A
day and a half later, the
train arrived in a small
village surrounded by forest.
They hid in the trees so
that nobody would see them
and sent Jasiek to the village
to get some food because
he spoke perfect Russian.
He took the Hungarian to
help. Paszkowski was assigned
to keep an eye on the German
to prevent him from doing
something unpredictable.
He was already showing signs
of a mental breakdown. Three
hours later, the two returned
carrying a good deal of
food. They had broken into
a farm house and taken all
they could find, including
some home-made vodka. They
started a fire and began
their feast. Paszkowski
had never had such good
sausage in his life. The
salt bacon, cheese, bread
and onions were also excellent.
Everything tasted wonderful.
They washed it all down
with the vodka and someone
suggested, "Let's go to
Moscow!"

The
next morning, most of the
group felt better, mentally
and physically. Only the
Czech was coughing and running
a temperature. They walked
along the edges of the woods
along the railway tracks.
When they reached another
signal, they damaged it
and changed its position.
In the evening, a train
arrived, stopped, and the
six boarded.

This
time they had the company
of cows, which provided
both warmth and milk. Jasiek
milked one into a mess tin
and, starting with the Czech,
gave each fresh, warm milk.
Later, everyone learned
to milk a cow. It was amusing,
but not so simple. Pulled
the wrong way, a cow would
kick.

Two
days later, they reached
the suburbs of Moscow. The
six jumped off the train
near what looked like small
private gardens. In fact,
these small pieces of cultivated
land were very popular in
Communist countries. After
working long hours elsewhere,
people grew vegetables,
fruit and sometimes raised
chickens in small lots.
In this case, there were
three small wooden shacks
to store tools. They broke
into one of them and planned
what to do next, deciding
to send Jasiek to KGB headquarters
in Moscow to say where they
were. Jasiek, however, could
not just march through Moscow
in the dirty military fatigues
he'd been wearing for more
than two weeks, unshaven
and armed to the teeth.
The first militia member
or soldier he encountered
would arrest him on the
spot. He changed into a
dirty working uniform found
in the shack and set off
for Moscow. He took only
a pistol with him.

The
next morning at 4:00 a.m.,
two big black Volgas pulled
up. Jasiek got out of one
of them, dressed very differently,
along with an older man
in civilian clothes. They
came to the shack and Jasiek
introduced him as a KGB
major. They all got into
the luxury vehicles and
were taken to the Moscow
unit of the KGB. Doctors
were called to take care
of the Czech but his unit
colleagues never saw him
again. He had come down
with pneumonia.

They
asked Jasiek where he got
his new clothes. He said
he approached a drunk lying
on a street, took him into
a dark alley and suggested
a trade. The drunkard refused,
but when Jasiek aimed his
pistol at his nose, he quickly
changed his mind. Jasiek
then put on his victim's
clothes and went on with
his mission.

The
remaining five men were
given three days to recuperate
and rest. They were allotted
new clothes, given a bath
and fed well. Doctors examined
each. On the third day again
at night, the inevitable
order came: "Board the helicopter".
Again the unknown. What's
next? The German almost
cried at the thought that
he might be going back to
the forest. The Libyan cheered
him up, suggesting that
as this time they would
train in different climatic
conditions they would probably
be dropped on a desert.
The German seemed dismayed
and they all laughed. In
fact, they returned to the
camp at Lesnoj. They rejoined
their daily routine as if
nothing had happened. The
"Magnificent Six" were down
to five.

The
lessons now varied, a mixture
of theory and practice.
They studied explosives
and their use in intelligence
work: how to make a bomb
under ordinary conditions
and how to use it; how to
hijack a plane or kidnap
individuals. They were taught
to be patient in waiting
for orders, even for years.
It was stressed never to
vary an order without a
very good reason.

They
learned about poisons and
how to use them. Once again,
they were back on the subject
of killing people in the
most primitive conditions.
For example, it was explained
how to kill someone with
an ordinary toothbrush.
One drives it, the handle
side, into the opponent's
nose so deep it reaches
the nose bone, up into the
brain. A spy can also thrust
a toothbrush into an opponent's
eye, pushing it to the very
end in an upward direction.
No normal human being would
ever think about such things.
There are also many ways
of strangling or hanging
a person. These were only
a few of the lessons from
Hell they were taught at
Lesnoj.

At
the close of their course,
the five were taken to Moscow
and put up in two apartments.
Their assignment was to
follow employees of the
American Embassy as an exercise.
Each spy got a car and a
picture of a person they
were to follow. Each day
after this surveillance,
each had to write a detailed
report of the activities
of the surveyed person.
They deposited their reports
at and picked up orders
from a contact point.

Paszkowski
says that a few of the U.S.
officials he followed were
unfaithful to their wives.
When the KGB brass discovered
the identities of the women
in liaison, they would blackmail
them into working for them.
Paszkowski wondered how
diplomats could be so naive.
In romantic and intimate
situations, they talked
a lot about themselves.
It helped the KGB to put
together a detailed life
picture of the diplomat
being watched.

The
five were also ordered to
kidnap people. At their
disposal was a two bedroom
apartment, where they stocked
up on food and had everything
ready. Security precautions
had to be very tight because
it was an apartment in an
ordinary apartment building.
The neighbours didn't know
what was going on. Any strange
noise might alarm the neighbours
who in turn would call the
militia and the whole mission
would be ruined. Failure
would reflect poorly on
their training.

It
was a Saturday afternoon
and many Muscovites were
leaving for the weekend,
often to visit families
in the country. The five
were ordered on their walkie-talkie
to park their two cars along
a street some distance from
each other.

Paszkowski
drove a black Volga with
the Libyan. In the other
were Jasiek and the German,
with the Hungarian behind
the wheel. After a period
of time, they got their
order - "Grey Trabant" (an
East German-made car) and
the license number. When
Paszkowski saw the car passing,
his heart sank. There were
two adults and two young
children in the vehicle.
He had no time to think.

He
passed the Trabant and cut
it off, forcing it to stop.
The second car, carrying
Jasiek and the others, approached
from the opposite side.
Jasiek jumped out of the
car and started speaking
quickly to the driver. "This
is a kidnapping. Everything
will be fine as long as
you cooperate with us. We
have guns so do not resist."
He showed them the gun he
carried inside his jacket.
"Now get out of the car.
Don't scream! Father with
son to this car and the
mother with the younger
son to the other."

The
mother immediately started
to cry. The father turned
white as a sheet and couldn't
say a word. The terrified
children sat silently in
the back of the car. Jasiek
pulled the man out of the
Trabant, pushed him into
the Volga, and told the
older son to follow him
in. The mother and the younger
boy were taken into the
other car. They drove off.
The German got into the
Trabant and drove off in
the opposite direction.
The Libyan tried to explain
to the man that they were
going to be all right and
that the family would be
together. The family was
told to behave normally
as they all walked into
the apartment or else they
would be shot.

Jasiek
was already in the apartment
with the mother and the
younger son. When the second
group entered the apartment
and the woman saw her husband
and son, she embraced them
both as if trying to protect
them from danger. She was
crying constantly. She kept
saying it must be a misunderstanding,
that they must have been
taken for somebody else,
that they had neither money
nor rich relatives, and
that nobody would be able
to pay the ransom. Jasiek
tried to calm her by saying
it wasn't a misunderstanding,
that they didn't want any
ransom and that they would
have to stay for some time
(how long he didn't know
himself) and that if they
did what was asked they
would be all right.

Half
an hour later, the German
arrived with their luggage.
The father said he would
give them his car because
it was the only thing of
value he had. He was a 36-year-old
worker at a steel factory
in Moscow. She was a 32-year-old
sales clerk in a furniture
store. Their sons were 11
and 7 years old. They were
all scared and didn't understand
what was going on. They
were quiet. Only the mother
cried every so often.

The
father, realizing they were
not to be hurt, tried to
comfort his wife. After
a few hours they calmed
down and accepted tea from
their captors. They sat
on a couch closely together.
The man asked if he could
smoke and they allowed it.
One of the boys then started
to complain, saying he was
hungry, and the poor woman
looked at her captors pleadingly.
Jasiek took her to the kitchen
where there was plenty of
food. He told her whenever
they were hungry or thirsty
to come to the kitchen and
prepare the meal without
asking permission.

Paszkowski
says he'll never forget
how Jasiek said to the woman
in Russian: "You women have
to take care of your families."
This helped to break the
ice between the family and
their kidnappers. Thereafter,
the family stayed in one
room with the T.V. and the
five stayed in the other.
Only the German, whenever
he heard some movement when
one of the family was using
the bathroom, would follow
them with the gun in his
hand and ask questions.

In
the evening, the hostages
appeared tired and were
told to go to bed. They
had two bedrooms but the
mother insisted they would
be fine in one. It was clear
they did not want to be
separated. The German protested,
but the Libyan gave him
a cuff and he desisted.
The Hungarian suggested
that a big bed be moved
into their room so the family
could sleep comfortably
and they did so. They all
seemed reasonably happy
under the circumstances.

All
five kept guard the first
night. For the next, they
left the Libyan with the
Hungarian on guard duty
and went to bed. After two
hours, Jasiek and Paszkowski
took over. Each day one
of them would drop a report
at the contact point for
their command headquarters.

Paszkowski
doesn't remember now the
names of the family members.
He recalls playing chess
with the older boy, who
was a good opponent. Every
so often one of them would
ask: "How much longer?"
Their captors would answer
that they didn't know, and
in fact simply did not.

The
Libyan and the German watched
the family the next night.
When Jasiek and the Hungarian
came in the morning to relieve
them, they learned that
the Libyan had almost killed
the German during the night.
In the evenings, the younger
boy would run around the
apartment. Little wonder.
How could any seven-year-old
sit still for so long? The
German stopped him by grabbing
his arm and, threatening
him with his gun, pushed
him into his parent's room.
The Libyan exploded, took
out his gun, pointing it
at the German, saying that
if he touched the child
again he would kill him
like a dog.

The
group wrote about the incident
in their daily report and
the next day the German
was recalled from the group.
The order said: "Recalled
to perform other duties."
Perhaps more sadistic ones,
the others thought, because
he would be well suited
for such duties. A gruesome
devil had left their shrinking
band.

The
family remained in custody
for six days and nights
before the order came: "Set
them free at such and such
a time." The Hungarian brought
the Trabant from hiding.
The family was told to pack
up without knowing what
was going to happen. It
was clear they were nervous,
not knowing what to expect.
The group packed their things
into the car, took it to
another section of Moscow
and parked in the street.
Shortly before the time
set for their release, Paszkowski
and Jasiek drove them in
the Volga to their Trabant.
They stopped by their car.
Jasiek gave them their car
key and told them to go
home. They could see the
astonishment in their eyes.
The woman kissed Jasiek.
Paszkowski's young chess
partner shook hands with
him. The family quickly
got out of the car and the
agents drove away.

A
few days later, the foursome
returned to Lesnoj. This
was shortly before the end
of their course. They continued
to jog, swim, shoot and
perform various military
manoeuvres.

On
one unforgettable day near
the shooting range, quite
out of the blue Paszkowski's
instructor shouted an order
to shoot the target he was
pointing at. At a distance,
Paszkowski saw a typical
old Russian babushka. Paszkowski
caught the machine gun he
was thrown in mid-air but
hesitated for a second.

The
instructor shouted: "Shoot!"
Paszkowski pulled the trigger
and fired a burst of what
turned out to be blank shots
in the woman's direction.

She
fell down immediately. Paszkowski
didn't know what had happened
to him. He could neither
eat nor sleep afterward.
He felt nauseous and thoroughly
disgusted with himself.
As far as the instructor
was concerned, however,
he had carried out the order
well. A few days later,
the instructor showed Paszkowski
through a window the same
woman he thought he had
shot. Paszkowski was convinced
he had murdered her.

The
nine-month course in Hell
was clearly meant to break
the will of the students
and reduce them to the level
of animals. Orders were
to be obeyed blindly. This
was the ultimate goal of
the so-called teaching.
Suitable people were needed
for espionage work. In Paszkowski's
view, after the course nothing
would amaze or surprise
him.

He
returned to Poland where
a promotion awaited him:
"a record for positive marks/results
achieved during the training,
we promote you to the rank
of Sergeant." Paszkowski's
prestige and financial income
immediately improved in
the pre-martial law Poland
of 1976.